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His response is almost immediate.
I look forward to it.
I hear the door open from the main room of the shop, and I hear Brendan’s exclamation as he sees Rico’s face. I’m going to have to go out there shortly and pretend that everything is fine, that my world doesn’t feel as if the cracks running through it have widened a little more. Like the quicksand isn’t pulling me under.
I stare at the last text, wondering what that really means.
And if I should be looking forward to it quite as much as I am.
8
EMMA
The sense of dread that’s been building since I talked to Rico has me feeling sick by the time I pull into Dante’s parking garage the following night. I barely even spare a glance at the line of cars, slamming the Chevelle door shut and grabbing my bag before I hurry inside and to the elevator. I wave the passkey at the security guards like a white flag, and they let me up without a word—either they remember me from the last time, or Dante has told them to let me up without question.
I stand in the elevator as it goes up, trying to breathe, to slow my racing heartbeat. I laid awake for what felt like hours last night, trying to come up with what to say to him, how to talk about this in a reasonable manner. Everything that came to mind involved me shouting in his face.
Probably not the wisest way to handle things, when dealing with a mafia don who broke into my boss’s house.
Dante isn’t brooding by the window this time when I walk in. He’s sitting on the couch, and he looks up the moment I step inside, a pleasant smile on his face as if nothing is wrong. As if this is no different than our first session. I see, to my astonishment, that there are two drinks on the coffee table—like this is some kind of date.
Would you like it if it was?
I grit my teeth against the annoying whisper, dropping my bag next to the bar and stalking to the edge of the couch on the opposite side of the one he’s sitting on. “You shouldn’t drink before a tattoo,” I tell him crisply. “And it’sreallynot wise to give the person putting permanent lines on your skin alcohol.”
Dante’s lips twitch in that infuriating smirk of his. “Maybe both of them are for me. Did you think of that?”
“Then that’s even worse.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t answer my question in the text, so I’ll repeat it. What thehelldid you think you were doing, Dante?”
He tilts his head a little, as if I’m amusing him. “Making it easier for you to take me on as a client.ResolvingRico’s objections, as it were.”
I stare at him, trying to determine if he’s being facetious or if he really believes what’s coming out of his mouth.
I think he’s serious.
“Youhonestlybelieve this made it easier for me?” I canfeelthe dumbfounded expression on my face. “I don’t know what world you live in, Dante, but you just made things athousandtimes worse for me.This—” I wave one hand towards the bar and my tattoo equipment and then back at him— “You’ve madethisall very much not worth it!”
“What do you mean?” He presses his lips together. “I was very clear with Rico—”
“Oh, I know you were! I saw his face!” I hear my voice rising, and can dimly hear that warning whisper in my head suggesting that Dante might not be a man who appreciates being talked to in this particular tone, but I can’t bring myself to stop. Now that I’ve started, I’m too angry.
It’s not just this, either. It feels like every emotion that I’ve been bottling up for the last six months is pouring out of me, and I can’t stop. Like this has given it all an outlet, and now that the dam is broken, it’s beyond repair. “You havenoidea what you’ve done,” I seethe, nearly panting as I stare at him across the space between us. “You’ve made everything so much worse.”
To my horror, I feel tears burning behind my eyelids. I blink rapidly.No. No, no.Iwillnot cry here. Not in front of this man, not like this.
Dante gets up, crossing that space. I want to back away from him, but I feel frozen, unable to move.
He stops just in front of me. He’s a few inches taller, just enough that it makes him look down as he speaks to me. “Explain,” he says quietly, but his voice is firm. “How did I make things worse? I told Rico if anything bad happened to you because of my visit—”
I shake my head furiously. “No. No, I’m not telling you anything more. Maybe this is howyouhandle things not going your way—breaking into people’s houses and breaking their noses and…and—” I suck in a breath, still fighting the wild tide of emotion. I can feel the flush working its way up my neck and into my face, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’ve wanted to shout at something for so long, to kick and claw and bite and fight back against the unfairness of it all, and Dante has given me an excuse.
“It’s not always how I handle them,” Dante says, his voice still smooth and unflappable and infuriatingly sexy. “But in this case, I thought—”
“No! This isn’t how it gets handled. Not with me. Notforme. I’m not telling you anything else. Or are you going to threaten me, too, if I don’t tell you about the conversation Rico and I had today?”
“Of course not!” He looks horrified. “Emma, I would never—”
“How should I know that?” I glare up at him. “Why would I think that you’ll treat me any differently ifIdo something to upset you—”
